Delusions of Spring
by attheturnofthetide
Summary: Spring festivals, lovely weather, and Unky Thranduil's best maple mead... that's what the elves of Rivendell love about spring. But this year, it's cold and dreary, and as much like midwinter as it can get (in fact, Erestor still thinks it's midwinter... the twelfth month is not over yet). Will the sun rise as Greenwood's spring festival starts?
1. Sparring in Midwinter

Chapter 1: Sparring in Midwinter

**A large thank you to my beta, Paula. I'm sorry I forced you to beta read my work when you could have been reading your fanfics ;) but thanks for looking over all my work. Hope to see your own stories one day!**

Winter in Rivendell was a lovely, breathtaking affair.

That is, if one was not visiting at the time when one's feet would squelch into the soft mud and completely ruin one's high and mighty reputation.

Like Erestor's current situation.

His beautiful plum-coloured robes were dragging in the soggy, nearly-translucent slush, and his slippered feet were numb with cold. Speckles of snow clung to strands of his hair, a reminder of the trees behind him's sudden shower of freezing flakes.

By Valar, things could not get any worse.

He scowled and made his way to the courtyard, where Glorfindel was sparring. Sparring in _midwinter_, the idiot elf!

"Hello!" said Glorfindel jovially when Erestor reached him. He put away his sword. "Why so grim, book-brain?"

"The weather's bothering me," said Erestor sourly. "Why so happy, Balrog Boy?"

"It's a good day!" protested Glorfindel. "And besides, Lindir here's getting better at footwork. That's progress, I should think."

With mild surprise, Erestor realized that Balrog-Boy's opponent was indeed Lindir – a sweating, red-faced, frustrated-looking Lindir in a simple tunic that allowed maximum movement.

"Morning, Erestor," he mumbled.

"What a shock!" said Erestor. "You're sparring with _Glorfindel_? Never mind. Glorfindell, Lord Elrond wants a word with you."

"Eh? He does?" Glorfindel grinned. "He must be wondering why his daughter – " he gestured at a faraway figure hiding behind a tree " - is trying to tail me. Well, tell him that I have stunning looks that have improved through the ages. That should explain a lot."

Erestor rolled his eyes.

"No, not that. He says you short-sheeted his bed yesterday, and he demands an explanation."

Glorfindel's face fell. "Oh."

"Get going, then."

Erestor nodded at Lindir. "This morning's breakfast is your favourite: vegetable soup and cheese rolls."

"CHEESE ROLLS!" shouted Lindir, flailing towards the dining hall.

Erestor caught Glorfindel's eye and shrugged. He then followed Lindir's blissfully dancing figure into the warmth and dryness of the dining hall.

Cheese buns, indeed.

Glorfindel emerged from Elrond's study looking quite disgruntled.

"What's the punishment?" asked Lindir, who was stuffing his face.

"Setting the dining table for a whole ruddy month," grumbled Glorfindel.

This was no easy feat; the table was long, and seated up to a hundred elves depending on occasion. Not to mention Glorfindel's way of setting the table was very old-fashioned (one could say it was Gondolin-style, which is now outdated and looked peevishly upon). And there was also the fact that the Balrog-slayer couldn't arrange flowers to save his life.

Not that there were any flowers to arrange. All the beautiful blooms of the royal gardens were still reduced to green, stubbornly closed buds.

Erestor sighed.

"I'm not helping you, if that's what you think," he said to Glorfindel, who was grinning deviously.

"Oh, yes you are," Glorfindel said, gleefully rubbing his hands together. "Or word of your nice pink bunny slippers may _accidentally_ slip out, eh?"

"By Illuvatar, you're IMPOSSIBLE!"

Which earned Erestor another smile that clearly stated, 'Mission successful'.


	2. The Advisor's Plight

Chapter 2: The Advisor's Plight

**Beta'd by Paula this morning. Thanks! **

**Hopefully you guys have already watched BotfA, because it was awesome. I watched it with my dad on Christmas and I cried. Three times. Dad officially thinks I've gone insane. Oh well.**

So Erestor ended up setting the table for four days a week before the lunch bell rang. It wasn't the most pleasant job, as he kept mixing up the placemats and using the wrong runners, but he did NOT want the likes of Elladan and Elrohir to find out the truth about his bunny slippers.

"As he set down the last fork on one cloudy morning, a very excited Silinde, dressed in a blinding shade of mauve, skidded into the dining hall, screeching with uncontrollable excitement.

"Hello, Sili – _phew!_" said Erestor. In the grinning elf's hurry, he'd sprayed twice the normal amount of lavender scented water. Erestor's nose tingled.

"Hello!" cried Silinde. "_Wonderful_ news from a messenger hailing from the lovely Greenwood. There's to be a spring festival and King Thranduil's invited every sorry elf in Middle-Earth to attend! Oh, Valar!"

"I don't understand why you're so excited," said Erestor. "It's not like we don't have spring festivals in Rivendell."

"Yes, but the_ wine_!" sighed Silinde dreamily. "Naturally Thranduil won't waste his best Dorwinion on his guests, but the Greenwood Winery makes SUCH good mulled raspberry wine - !"

"You're an idiot," Erestor informed him. "The mulled raspberry wine tastes disgusting. I personally prefer rose nectar or maple mead."

Silinde sniffed disdainfully. "For an advisor, you have shockingly bad taste."

He skipped away, and Erestor flapped a hand in front of his face.

Someone needed to talk to Silinde about his perfume.

"AW YES!" was the most common declaration that day, followed by whistles, cheers and claps of appreciation. It would have descended into impromptu dances of joy. That is, if Elrond hadn't exclaimed that everyone was acting like irresponsible, alcohol-obsessed oliphaunts. _That_ shut them up.

At any rate, Erestor knew King Thranduil wouldn't put out any wine, ale, beer, or mead that was alcoholic in the slightest. Past… _incidents_ had most likely taught him a lesson.  
>Besides, funny as it may be to see the usually serious and law-abiding Elrond frolicking like any other elf, it did have its hazards, such as the time Rumil gave his older brother Haldir a generous dunk in the lake.<p>

Erestor had a suspicion that the March-Warden had never really recovered.

Despite his love of drink, the Elvenking knew very well how to throw a party. Erestor had been to two before – one when he'd been ambassador to Greenwood, and another time when there had been a banquet to celebrate an important milestone in Prince Legolas's life (which he could not recall). Both parties had refreshments, lively music, and laughter. Heavens knew how much he needed to lighten up. Elrond often said Erestor shouldn't overwork himself, and often offered to find him an assistant.

But there was no time for relaxation or parties. Erestor had piles of paperwork to finish; questions and requests from Rivendell elves, their emotions ranging from exasperation ("It's the seventh time my witless brother broke the door hinges") to sheepishness ("I forgot to water Lord Elrond's daisies. They're dead as doorknobs now, and I'm very, very sorry")

Even with Erestor helping, Elrond still had at least a hundred letters coming in every week.  
>Erestor sighed. For Varda's sake, he wanted a vacation, he wanted to go away – away from the damp chilliness of a closely clinging winter, and away from the responsibilities he had to juggle every day.<p>

If that was too much to ask for, Erestor would at least like a little moment to himself.

But he couldn't, he told himself firmly, and he wouldn't. He had a list of priorities, and work was at the very top.


	3. Glorfindel's Hopes and Expectations

Chapter 3: Glorfindel's Hopes and Expectations

**We were re-watching LotR last night (I'm staying at Paula's house for a few days) and GOSH. I can't believe the hobbit trilogy is over and done. I'll miss this fandom's new movies a lot, even though I know there probably won't be a Silmarillion TV show (PFFT Peter Jackson, do you think a BALROG ARMY IS POSSIBLE? How are you going to do a CG Morgoth?) but the fandom goes on, I think, in fanfiction and fanart and rereading Tolkien's fantastic books. **

"Balrog-Boy" was now reclining happily in the gardens, lying on a bench with his feet propped up on one of its arms. He was wearing a thick flannel tunic, and the air was nice and cool. The world could not possibly get any better.

He'd been given the news of the day – Thranduil was hosting a spring festival in Greenwood. Glorfindel liked parties, but he liked Thranduil's best mead even better – the sweet kind, of course. He didn't like getting drunk, and thanks to the Elvenking's sensible wife, most of the Greenwood Winery's products were now less alcoholic.

The Balrog-Slayer sighed happily. A week or so with his friends, celebrating the coming of spring, eating rich, hearty Greenwood fare… he didn't have anything against the Lady of Light or her realm (in fact, he was good friends with Haldir and his brothers), but Lothlorien food was a bit… airy. Airy, crispy, delicate, teasing the taste buds; overall okay, but Glorfindel liked a good, filling meal. Not tiny tidbits.

Lindir, his new student, was doing quite well in his studies. He had good reflexes sharp eyes – if only the elf could develop more strength. But oh well, he thought. No matter. It'll come in time with training.

Lindir of course was quite anxious to see the infamous halls of Greenwood the Great – and, Glorfindel assumed, to listen to the wonderful sound of their even ore infamous tournaments. There was bound to be one. Glorfindel wanted to sign up for it. Archery, fencing, throwing knives, and obstacle courses were well enough, but the subtler arts of riddles, playing instruments, acrobatics (a common pastime of the Guards' new recruits), and hide-and-seek (it seemed a childish game at first, but the skills of camouflage, unexpected ambushes, trap-making, and silent movement made the game far more deadly than child's play) were also part of the grand scheme.

He was definitely looking forward to it.

Glorfindel stood and stretched, before deciding to go visit Erestor. No doubt the cranky advisor had something to look forward to at the festival. After all, Erestor was bound to like the breathtaking architecture of the 'halls of stone'…

"NOT GOING?" bellowed Glorfindel.

Erestor winced.

"_What do you mean, you're not going_?"

"Kindly lower your voice," hissed Erestor. "Good grief, I knew you could yell, but I didn't know you could yell_ that _loud. And no, I am not going anywhere. DONE. That's it. No nothing. My final decision. I am _not _going anywhere, you – you – you – " He shook his fist at the pacing warrior, unable to find a suitable insult.

"But why?" said Glorfindel, calming down slowly. "It's loads of fun. Thranduil's father was no party elf, I'll give you that, but the Elvenking knows fun when he sees it. Besides, you've never seen the inside of the palace. It's terrifically designed." He gave Erestor a sly look that said, 'I know you well enough to understand your interests.'

"I've been to Greenwood twice now," admitted Erestor, "but no, I've never seen the palace's interior. This makes it different… Hm… So – "

"Yes?" said Glorfindel, grinning. Erestor was going to agree for sure this time!

"So," said Erestor shortly, "you can tell me all about it when you get home."

Ignoring Glorfindel's wail of anguish, he dipped his pen into the inkwell and began to rely to a particularly waspish elf who wanted to know why Elrond's garden did not have pink-tipped tulips.

Glorfindel yanked him off his feet just as he was writing, "… is severly allergic to pink tipped – ". Kicking and swatting at the golden-haired warrior, Erestor panicked and threw a swing at the Balrog-slayer's head. He missed, and tried to bite the nearest thing: Glorfindel's arm. Luckily, Glorfindel dodged it and grasped Erestor by the collar again.

"Let go of me, you dastardly, manipulative, HALF-WITTED ORC!" snapped Erestor.

He tried to kick Glorfindel in the shin but overshot and hit the table instead. As Glorfindel clucked his tongue sympathetically, saying, "That must have hurt, your poor toe," Erestor watched his beloved inkwell teeter one way, totter the other, and spill all its contents over his paperwork.

"NO!" shrieked Erestor. "You great galumphing FROG!"

Glorfindel was so shocked to hear his glorious golden self called a 'great galumphing frog" that he loosened his hold ever so slightly on Erestor's collar.

Erestor wriggled to the ground, his face as thunderous and wrathful as it could get.

"_Look what you made me do_, you stupid little mutton chop!" howled Erestor in outrage. "I HAVE WORK TO DO, YOU CACKLING CROCKPOT, SO GO SPAR OR WHATEVER and by all that's good and sensible, _LEAVE ME ALONE_!"

He quite literally kicked Glorfindel out his study, watching darkly as the Balrog-slayer flew into the hall, over the heads of twenty innocently conversing elves, and into the fountain outside, landing dramatically with a humongous splash.

Erestor slammed his door, double-locked it, and put three large chairs before it just in case anyone managed to get through the locks.

He smiled and went back to work.

Lindir had been strolling through the gardens, admiring the daffodils, when something large, muscled, and golden-haired went flying over his head. It landed with a splendid plop that sent sparrows flying off in unbridled terror.

"Glorfindel?" said Lindir incredulously (and a little uncertainly) when a golden head topped with a lovely lily pad emerged from the slimy depths of the fountain.

"Sweet Elbereth,"was all he could say.

"Sweet Elbereth indeed," muttered Elrond nearby, a short distance from the throng of whispering elves. "Oh, Manwe help me, I've gone mad. I _knew_ there was something in those lemon tarts - !"

He wandered away to the comfort of his room, leaving Lindir to deal with a bedraggled Glorfindel (who had crawled out of the fountain, tripped over a garden trowel, and landed smack on his face).

Sweet _Elbereth_!


	4. Paperwork

Chapter 4: Paperwork

"Of course I know there's a spring festival," said Lindir, once Glorfindel had taken a shower and changed out of his sopping wet clothes. The golden-haired warrior waited for his long luscious locks to dry; a task that required patience and sunlight. He rubbed strands of his hair with a cloth but to no avail. After all, it _was_ winter. Glorfindel's hair was more likely to freeze into tiny icicles.

"Why do you ask?"

Lindir hastily slipped on his fleece-lined robe. Cold drafts were sneaking in through the window Glorfindel had opened.

Glorfindel impatiently explained Erestor's refusal to go.

"Ah," said Lindir thoughtfully, after he finished processing this. "Erestor always has work, I've noticed. Sometimes it's cataloguing books, or helping Elrond write thank-you cards. And I wouldn't be very surprised to hear that he's writing responses for the letters in Elrond's mailbox.

"That's the problem!" Glorfindel huffed. "Erestor's a birdbrain and a stuffy, stuck-up pain in the neck, but he needs a break too, you know."

"I absolutely agree," said Elrond, materializing out of nowhere.

Lindir jumped, and hurriedly cleared his throat.

Apparently, the Lord of Rivendell had deemed It safe to venture out of his room.

"Erestor works hard," said Elrond, rubbing his chin. "Too hard, in my opinion. I appreciate the effort, and I do appreciate the amount of work he gets done in an hour, but I've always told him not to stress himself."

"See?" roared Glorfindel.

Lindir thought that with Glorfindel's fighting skills, large appetite, and large enthusiasm, he could actually pass for a dwarf. A tall, arrogant, slightly stupid dwarf, that is.

"He needs a vacation," said Lindir distractedly.

"We both agree," said the twins as they popped out of the closet.

Lindir jumped so high he nearly hit his head on the ceiling.

"Lovely hat collection in there, by the way," said Elladan. Or was it Elrohir?

"I really liked the one with the feathers," said Elrohir. Or was it Elladan?

Elrond rubbed his temples.

"_AHA_!" Glorfindel yelled, causing Lindir to jump once again, managing to slip on the floor and land on his tailbone very hard.

"We help Erestor finish his paperwork!" said Glorfindel triumphantly.

There was a pause.

"So that he can go to the spring festival," he added.

"I'm in for it," said Lindir. "But… how do we hide it from him? It's not like we can snitch fifteen piles of paperwork from the study and not get caught by Erestor. He'll get angry and throw _me_ into the fountain."

"Better you than me," said Glorfindel with a shudder. "Once was quite enough, thank you."

They (well, Lindir, Glorfindel, and the twins, seeing as Elrond had other matters to attend to), traipsed toward the advisor's study, whispering their plans and nodding as Elrohir assigned them roles in the grand plan.

They turned the corner, and there stood the door to Erestor's study.

Glorfindel reached there first and was about to open the door when Elladan stopped him (at least, Lindir assumed it was Elladan).

Elladan pressed his ear to the door and tapped it lightly.

He nodded grimly. "Double-locked, with furniture placed strategically to keep away unwanted visitors.|"

Lindir stared at him, dumbfounded, then shrugged. He wasn't about to question a thief's methods. If Elrond was here, he'd probably chastise the twins for attempting to break into a room, but they hadn't the time to scold each other. At least, not if they wanted to go to the spring festival.

With a bit of wire and a spoon (Lindir didn't ask), the twins quietly undid the locks.

"All right," said a twin, probably Elrohir."Erestor put three chairs behind this to stop the door from opening fully, but he conveniently forgot that the door opens the other way. His means we'll have to yank hard and hop over furniture. Then – Glorfindel's got the rope. You know what to do after we get in."

Everyone nodded.

"One… two… three!"\

The door swooped open and the twins leaped seamlessly over the tumbling chairs. Glorfindel did too, and Lindir swept the chairs outside, closed the door, and locked it twice.

Erestor, who had been feverishly scribbling on a piece of parchment, looked up with a start.

They allowed him to shriek once before Glorfindel had hi bound and gagged to his chair.

"Lovely work," said Elrohir admiringly. "Erestor, don't you worry. We're here to help you."

Erestor kicked him in the stomach.

Years of training and a soldier's quick reflexes made Elrohir move faster than lightning. He nimbly dodged the slippered foot.

"I have permission from my father to do this," said Elladan, which was a half-truth, but it convinced Erestor, "so do hold still."

He took a little bottle from his pocket, ripped his sleeve, dipped the cloth into the liquid, and waved it under Erestor's nose.

The advisor slumped, unconscious.

"Now for the work," said Elladan.

They used pens from Erestor's hoard and wrote reply and reply. Some were short answers, like: "We do not wear pink in Rivendell because it is undignified and rather silly" and some were long: "The recipe for lembas bread has been handed down the family for generations. Currently Lady Celebrian is the most recent to have received it, but Lady Galadriel also has a copy. If you wish to try lembas, visit Lothlorien and ask for a taste."

They dipped and wrote and folded and sealed, and addressed and stamped and signed until their arms were sore. Lindir tried to keep his handwriting neat and readable, and sealed the letters carefully, and consulted the twins when he needed to know something, but otherwise, he worked as fast as he could. Before he knew it, his stack of tottering questions were answered and were sitting in the basket marked "DONE".

Glorfindel's replying was more to-the-point, and he would have finished long before Lindir was it not for is too-beautiful calligraphy that got him a bit sidetracked.

The twins' handwriting was passable, and their replies had a bit more detail. When they finished their stacks, Lindir was sure many elves would appreciate the information. After all, it was quite interesting to learn about the history of the recipe for lembas bread.

They lit candle after candle, opened new boxes of wax and pen nibs, and plunged their wax seals hour after hour. The light grew dim and the chatter outside the room quietened. The piles and piles of paperwork, standing on tables and chairs and occupying the ground, gradually shrank and shrank until there was a small stack of ten letters left.

"Better leave that for Erestor tomorrow," yawned Glorfindel, "or he'll get cranky because there's no work to do."

"And I'll ask my father to stop letting people put their complaints in his mailbox," said Elrohir sleepily.

"Good thought," mumbled Lindir.

And as the candles died and turned into curling smoke, one by one, the four elves fell asleep, their heads illuminated by the light of the stars.


End file.
